Every Year Upon Her Birthday
by GoldenMiniJ-17
Summary: 1. "Hello Mammy!" she begins. "I've brought you flowers." She places them down before her mother, kissing one of the flowers beforehand. She stands. She speaks. 2. She dare not look herself in the eye and instead traced a look around the room, noticing the lack of people, important people... O/S set around Tom and Sybil's daughter.
1. Every Year Upon Her Birthday

**Helloo :)**

**Do I have to explain my shock?... **

**I hope you enjoy this,, I cried a little writing it.**

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**1926**

Every year upon her birthday, little Sybil Branson visits her mother. She has never seen her, she never will, but she goes regardless. Her father watches as she takes a small bunch of flowers to her, smiling sadly and trying to keep away his tears. He always came with her before but this year he lets her have a moment alone; she deserves it and needs it.

She tottered up to her mother, smiling sweetly.

"Hello Mammy!" she begins. "I've brought you flowers."

She places them down before her mother, kissing one of the flowers beforehand. She stands. She speaks.

"Today's my birthday. Today I turned 5. I'm here with Da. He's over there. He's letting me talk to you alone this year. That's good. Would you like to hear what I got?"

Her mother nodded.

"I know you do. Da gave me a music book. It's got songs in it that I can play on the piano. He likes to hear me sing…. Auntie Mary and Un'ca Matthew got me some books. Da reads them to me at night…Auntie Edith got me a dolly and Granny and Granda got me locket. It's pretty. Look Mammy,"

She holds the small locket in her palm, showing it to her. She smiled before tucking it away again.

"It's got a picture of you in it," she sighed sadly. She sniffled noisily and slumped onto the floor.

You see, little Sybil doesn't see what the others see; she doesn't want to. She sees her mother, standing there, in her nurse's uniform or her 'pretty white dress', smiling widely and nodding at everything she said. She didn't speak though; this infuriated her. She wanted to hear her mothers voice but for some reason she wouldn't talk to her. Everyone else, however, sees the reality – the bane of a child's mind and imagination; they see her grave.

Tom ran up to his now weeping daughter and knelt down beside her, placing her on his one knee. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks before kissing her forehead.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to handle it. I'm sorry, my little one, I shouldn't have pushed this on you," he murmured, running a finger down her cheek and pushing back the loose black curls that had fallen slightly in front of her face.

"I'm fine Da," she stumbled through her tears. "She just won't talk to me,"

She rested her head upon his shoulder, letting herself cry. Tom rocked her gently, lightly murmuring to her comforting words in Gaelic, soothing her until she stopped. As a baby, no-one else could sooth her but him; he was the only one who could speak the language.

Sybil still took comfort to her Da teaching her to speak his native language; it reminded her of where she came from and of her Nanny – Tom's mother - living in Ireland. Nanny is kind. Nanny makes her smile. Nanny always cries...

"It's not that she won't, sweet, it's just that she can't," he murmured. He wiped her nose with a small hanky in her coat pocket. "But you don't need to hear her say the words to know that she loves you,"

She nodded and looked back at her mother but didn't see her sweet face. She saw the stark reality. She saw the cold stone and the grass and the candle pot and the words.

Those awful words. Those words that give her nightmares.

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**1931**

"Hello Mam," Sybil smiled.

"Here I am again, and here are some more flowers. These came out of the money Da gives me, so I hope you like them. Today it's my birthday. Today I turn 10. I don't want to talk about my presents. That's selfish. I want to talk about Da. Da isn't well Mam. I see him sometimes; he cries a lot. I know why. It's my fault. It's because you're not here. You died because of me, not for me like Da tells me. I know he lies. All the time he does it and it annoys me. I shouted at Granda too. He lies to me too but for different things. Gran tells me that it was his fault that you're not here but I know that it's all a cover."

She gets it all out quickly, her anger vented.

She comes alone this time. Her Da is back at the house; he's already been. But she knows that someone will follow her. Be it her Auntie Mary or Uncle Matthew or Aunt Edith, she knows that someone will be around the corner waiting for her.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Her mother frowns, but nods. She is concerned.

"I wrote Da a song. He hasn't heard it yet. He doesn't know, so you can't tell him. It's a mixture of songs that tell a story. Kind of like those music hall shows you see in the cities. Auntie Mary took me to one of those. I know she hated it but she didn't tell; I loved it."

She pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket and begins to sing the words. A sweet melody echoes through the grounds and alerts people walking by on the street.

Her mother smiles and sighs fondly.

"Da says that there will be another war. Do you know Eddie? He is my cousin. Da says that he may have to fight. I don't want him to. He is my only friend here. Back at home I have lots of friends but here, I'm very lonely. So I sit at the piano and play."

She hummed a tune that she had learnt on the piano. She sang along to it too. Many stopped just to listen but their consciences called them away; it was rude to watch.

Her mother sniffed, wiping away a tear. Her baby was lonely.

A voice interrupted her conversation, frustrating her.

"Sybil! You need to come back, you've been out here hours!"

His voice echoed through her and made her

"Coming Da!" she shouted back. "Sorry Mam, I have to go. Da is ready to shout at me. I had better take my punishment on my head…I deserve it." She sighed the last and turned back as she walked away.

She looked at the words. Those awful words. Those words at made her angry.

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**1939**

Sybil ran to the church, dropping down upon her knees in front of her mother. She could feel the tears streaming down her face. She wiped them away with her sleeve, not caring who was watching nearby.

"Oh Ma!" she wept. There were no sounds but the sounds of her muffled cries. Not even the birds sang their song. Not even the cars trudged out their annoying groan. Not a rustle.

"Good news Ma," she choked, a small chuckle coming out from her lips. She smiled weakly, "You won't be alone for another day."

She calmed herself after merciless tears and uncontrollable sobs took over her. She shook, almost surrendering to her body. She gasped. She sat up. She remembered when her Da said.

A fit.

She spoke, "I ran straight here. I had to tell you. No one else could know just yet, but I'm sure that they will now. Auntie Mary tried to stop me, so did Edward…but I kind of…hit him…in the face. They're all preoccupied with him now."

She took a deep breath and another nervous laugh escaped her. She would apologise to him later…when he apologised first. 'Stubborn, like my mother, I am,'

She rolled her small locket, which was now a bracelet, between her fingers, opening and closing the delicate snap. She opened it for one final time and stared at the two tiny photographs. She kissed the inside and kept the heart to her lips, more tears flowing.

Her mother reached out her arm, trying desperately to touch her daughter. She couldn't reach her.

"Right. Sorry. As you know, today is your anniversary. It's also my birthday. I'm 18. I hate that they're on the same day. You loose your credit every year. You deserve it more than I do."

She brought out the single rose and placed it before her.

"From Da. I found it. No flowers from me this year. Sorry. This was kind of…unexpected." She let the tears fall in front of her onto the ground.

Her mother felt a slight wetness drip upon her hand. She smelt the salt. Her daughter's tears.

"Today I signed on to a nursing course. Just like you. Da cried when he saw me. He thought…he thought he was seeing things. A ghost. Gran says that she's convinced you've…stuck around. She says that she feels you sometimes. The room warms immediately. I feel it too…sometimes. Like now."

Her mother smiled, nodding.

"I leave for Liverpool on the 12th. I'll try and come back…not got much to-" she coughed. "I'm so excited Ma. Were you? I bet you were. Da said that you were. He said…he said that…I can't remember what he said. Oh God!...No! No, not now. Not yet. I have something else that I want to say."

She placed her hand on the worn stone, rubbing her thumb across it lovingly. She kissed it. She didn't care about the small traces of rubble that dusted her lips. She welcomed it. This would be the closest she would ever get.

"I just, I have to thank you. I haven't before. I remember when I was 10 I blamed myself for what happened to you. I remember when I was 5 I was just so naive. I suppose it can't be blamed – I was only 5, I didn't understand. Now I do. At last!" She laughed, looking skyward as her hysteria continued.

"Dear Lord Ma, when I look back I was so ungrateful. I used to resent the others that had their mothers. I would be quite cruel to them. I couldn't understand why I was different. Why me? Why my mother? But then I met someone; his name is Jonathan. He's like me. His Ma died too. He told me that I should be thankful, not hateful. He told me that I am blessed. I am here because of a great sacrifice, and it is that that proves a mothers eternal love. Your eternal love. Even from beyond the grave I can feel it."

She looked up slightly, as of to stare into a watchers eyes.

"You're with me now aren't you?"

Her mother nodded, reaching her hand out again, straining so. Sybil sat back, feeling the sudden urge to touch the sky, reaching out in front of her, grasping at something…nothing. She dropped her hand to her lap and sighed.

Her mother held her hand in place and wept. She could feel.

"He's here now. At Downton. Da loves him…sort of. He's English, though Da can't complain. Would make him a hypocrite. He's made John promise not to go and fight. But I know he will. You would have loved him too. It's funny; he says that to me about his Mum…"

Sybil could feel the guilt racking away within her. She had skirted around the subject long enough. She stared at the ground.

"So…to the news that I came to tell you. I have come here to tell you that…Da will be with you very soon."

A hand dropped. A distant scream could be heard.

"Last night. His heart. It was so broken that I am surprised he lived this long. They're taking him away…giving him back to you tomorrow. I know you've missed him. He's missed you. He hasn't forgotten. Gran said that she's forgotten what your voice sounded like…not that I even know what you sounded like. Even she tells me that her heart can't last much longer."

She broke down. She heard footsteps coming up behind her. She turned slightly to see her John waiting for her.

"Only one more day now, Mammy. I love you…and thank you."

She stood, patting the headstone. She couldn't see her mother anymore. She couldn't even see the headstone anymore. She saw her future. She stumbled back almost falling onto the floor. John saved her.

"My word, are you alright, darling?" he asked her. He crouched down behind her, wrapping her up closely to his chest.

She looked at the words. Those awful words. The words that terrified her.

"Will it happen to me? Will my child not know me?" she whispered.

Her mother shook her head. She was adamant.

"No," John answered. "It won't happen to you,"

Her mother smiled. She agreed.

Sybil giggled. It turned into small laughs. She kissed her love's cheek.

"Finally, some answers."

Her mother would have smiled… but she was gone.

A whisper carried along the breeze, a loving embrace reflected in the glass and joyous tears echoed in the ringing shop bells.

They were together at last.

Their daughter smiled.

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**I hope it didn't make you guys cry too much... **

**What can I say that hasn't been said? Only that they hid it well didn't they?! And that their daughter had better be a good character! Hopefully, there may be a time jump in the next series (if they do one) and she's a little older. **

**Tell me what you think :)**

**GMJ17 xxxx**


	2. Upon This Day of Days

Sybil gazed, completely neutral and unmoved by her reflection. Though her hair had been tied gracefully on her head, though her face held the innocence of beauty and refinement, the fact that her whole body glowed and shone with an aura likened to angels, she felt nothing of the sort. She dare not look herself in the eye and instead traced a look around the room, noticing the lack of people; important people. She wouldn't go accompanied. She refused. If it wasn't him, then it was no-one. She within moments of making that decision turned a deliberate stab of pain from a father into a tradition. Her Uncle Matthew said that he would do it.

"Never," she replied, turning her back on him.

She tied up her own dress. Her selected cousins and friends helped her but with that she was adamant. Her Auntie Mary and Edith and both her grandmothers offered to do it for her.

"Never," she replied, turning her back on them.

She had already cried once; the memory of her cousin Patricia seething as once again her make up was ruined was not one that she wanted to relive. She wouldn't do it again. She couldn't. She bit her lip, fighting them away. She could see the redness in her eyes reappearing, the stark pain so visible to all. The wounds were once again open. The air in the room suddenly became thick, suffocating her. She choked on her own closed up throat and spluttered. The necklace around her neck pulled her down, the weight of her burdens and dread making her shoulders strain.

"Oh no, please don't start again. It's almost time!" Sinead whined. She didn't notice her enter the room until her soft voice was heard. It always puzzled her how Sinead could have such a soft but with a heavy accent.

"Start what again?" she answered, her voice coming out in a whisper. She felt the strange wet sensation trickling down her cheek. She looked up. She thought the roof was leaking. It was an old house.

"Crying,"

Oh, she thought.

The door closed.

She shook away the tears, closing her eyes tightly. Behind her lid she could see their faces. Young, beautiful and completely before their time. Opening her eyes again, she could see them in the mirror. Her father to her left and her mother to her right. They both smiled, he father nodding slightly in approval. They looked the same, just like a photograph. Her father wasn't as old as she remembered. He looked…so young. And she, her mother looked barely older than herself.

"Hello," she whispered.

They said nothing, just their smiles grew and her mothers hand appeared upon her shoulder. The weight was lighter than air. She sighed, her shoulder hunching downward and her head shaking slightly.

"I know that you can hear me. I just have one thing to ask. Why me? What did I ever do?"

They looked sad. Neither of them met her distraught eyes. They looked between one another, her mother shaking her head slightly. She didn't understand.

She groaned, turning away from them. Anger heated her.

"Are you punishing me? Is that it God? Is this some kind of twisted punishment? Then why make them pay for it?!" she screamed out to the heavens, ripping the floating lace from within her hair and throwing it to the floor.

The tears flowed freely; no-one could stop her in her rampage. She turned back to the mirror. They were still there.

Her mother had her arm outstretched, ready to comfort.

Her father frowned in concern.

"It's not fair! All I wanted was…and you didn't even let me have that! You took him from me, Ma! And now I'm all alone!"

She crumpled to the floor, letting sadness take over. The façade of her china doll appearance ran down her cheeks. The many scars and wounds revealed themselves, yet none of them marred her skin. One cut here from loosing her mother. One cut there from being torn from her father. She was a fragile creature; scratch away the surface and there laid the cracks.

How she was glad for her Gran. She taught her the importance of this show, this mask. It gave her the strength to carry on, and though she didn't need it for the season like her aunts and mother did, it was incredibly useful for events like this.

Her mother shook her head, taking one step forward. Her father stopped her, enfolding her in his arms. She cried.

Turning back to the mirror, she noticed her father crouched down beside her. Her mother had a hand upon his shoulder.

They said nothing but the message got across. She could ear the distant whispers of the people arriving. Among it hung a familiar tone,

"It's not hers or your fault," he whispered. "You're never alone. Good luck,"

"Da-?"

The door opened behind her and Mary entered, coming to collect her.

"Sybil? Oh my darling!"

She gasped turning to the mirror could her aunt see them? Of course not. They weren't real. The only thing that gazed back was the wildness that was her blue eyes. She felt arms surround her, scooping her up from the floor and back down again up in a chair. She preferred the floor. It was where they sat by the fire.

"People are getting quite anxious now and he's here…so I think its time to begin."

Mary took out a crisp handkerchief, wiping away the small streaks that displayed her tears. Mary could see the pure grief that circled her niece. She had seen that face once before. It was upon her sister. The night that she delayed them their happiness. She and Edith drove her back in the moonlight, the silence piercing the air with a hatred that would leave until the day her sister, finally and deservedly, married.

The resemblance between them was just uncanny.

She pulled up her niece, fixing the delicate material back in place before leading her out of the room. Her long dress dragged behind her, revealing two white feathers stood side by side.

Walking down the small corridor, her hand in her aunts, they came across the main party, all of them anxious. The murmurs could be heard and the familiar twang melted her heart.

"Ahh!" her uncle Matthew exulted, breaking her away from her thoughts. "There you are, now are you completely sure. You're only going to do this once and I just want to be sure that you're doing it right,"

She huffed, glaring at him.

"No," she replied. "I told you before Uncle. If its not him, it's no one."

He nodded, kissing her on the cheek.

The party left her stood on the threshold, taking their seats. She checked herself, making sure that she was appropriate enough to be seen. She checked the bouquet in her hands. She gasped.

There stood, in among the flowers, were two more feathers. She stroked them, both soft gentle and kind to her skin.

The music began and the doors opened. An exhilarated smile plastered upon her face as she walked down the aisle, her Jonathan waiting for her at the other end. To the guests she was alone but she knew and her family knew that they were right beside her. A warm breeze brushed past her hand as she reached him. There it was. There was their blessing.

"Dearly beloved…" the priest spoke. Sybil smiled.

Everyone was at her wedding.


End file.
